


At The End of All Things

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anyway he's gone all Full Archivist-esque, Because I adore that that tag exists, Beholding!Jon, Good Omens AU, I think it'll hopefully end up more plot/character interaction heavy than shippy though, Is that a tag if it's already canon?, M/M, Monsters in love, Mutual Pining, No knowledge of Good Omens required, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated but it's staying clean because Jon's Ace and So Am I, Web!Martin, With apologies to Jonny Sims Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-28 22:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: The things that are Kind-Of Jonathan Sims and Mostly Martin Blackwood have been alive for just over 200 years. No, scratch that, they've been Avatars for 200 years exactly. They very much died when the Magnus Institute was burned down, one year after it's opening.Now they're just trying to enjoy their new lives and interact with their Patrons as little as possible. But when the Beholding decides it's time to try for it's ritual, and the Web wants to stop it, each is assigned the task of tracking down The Fearless One, to use her as sabotage for the other. Neither are particularly thrilled by this task, nor the concept of the end of the world, which if they're being honest they're really quite fond of.OR: A Good Omens inspired AU





	1. London's Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, this really ran away with itself huh. Originally it was supposed to be essentially just Good Omens with a TMA face but drafting and notes and theorising with friends kinda helped it become its own fully formed AU, straying quite far from both canons. It'll hopefully fill out more in the next few chapters (And if all goes well, there's gona be a LOT) but lets see how much I hate this chapter by tomorrow and work from there.

**The Magnus Institute, London, 1819**

 

Out of all the places to be trapped in a fire, a basement has to be one of the worst. A basement at its most flammable, piled high with papers upon papers, ready to catch like age-yellowed tinder at any moment, was another story all together. Jonathan Sims realised this later than he should have, at precisely the moment the pillar he was leaning on for support began to crumble. His lungs already heavy with smoke, he knew he couldn’t make it to the stairs before the beams gave up entirely. 

 

“Martin!”, he yelled, voice hoarse from the fumes. He knew they’d been the only two in the Archives at that hour. Jon had the unfortunate tendency to stay late around work and Martin had the even more unfortunate tendency to stay around Jon. The only other person in the building should have been Jonah Magnus, upstairs in his office.

 

Jonah should have been the only one there at all, really. At least that’s what one would assume, considering it was currently one in the morning, and all staff should have been long gone, aside from the famed reclusive Institute Head. 

 

A call from further into the archives told Jon where he was. He could see him now, through the smoke, slumped against one of the shelves, coughing like something was trying to escape his lungs. 

 

Jon knew they were both going to die down here, in among the statements and the files that he’d spent the last year meticulously recording and arranging and stacking, the things that had all but consumed his life. Fitting, really.

 

He managed to crawl his way over to Martin before his vision became too blurred, eyes watering and head swimming. He didn’t really care how he went, but he wasn’t going to let Martin be alone. Jon didn’t consider himself one to care about people, but there and then, he needed Martin to be okay. 

 

‘I’m here,’ he said, hauling himself into a sitting position, leaning against the shelf. Martin choked back a sob and wrapped his arms around Jon, in a way that would have been improper under any other circumstance. Jon found he didn’t particularly care anymore. 

 

The sound of the building above them crumbling cut off anything more they could say. Plaster and bricks raining down took away the last of their vision, senses becoming clouded by the noise and the blinding, choking smoke. Jon doesn’t remember much after that.

 

The first thing he remembers after coming-to in the rubble was the distinct feeling he was not waking up. Waking up would mean he felt in any way rested, like he’d slowly drifted to unconsciousness and woke up later restored. This felt like someone had restarted him entirely. He was numb, and cold, and felt every flaw and ache had not been healed, but stripped and stolen away entirely. He felt whole and he hated it. 

 

The second thing he did was look for Martin. He crawled out from beneath a chunk of rubble that, if he’d taken the time to consider it, definitely should have killed him. He struggled to his feet, clambering over the rocky new terrain, and despite the enveloping darkness he knew exactly where he was going, each footfall telling him he was drawing closer to  _ something _ . 

 

What he found was two things. One, despite the fact that it was almost unidentifiable by the damage, bloodied and crushed and the most harrowing thing Jon had yet seen, he knew was Jonah Magnus. The thing crouched over the body, sobbing, Jon didn’t want to recognise. Sandy hair full of soot and plaster, waistcoat nearly torn to shreds, at first it certainly seemed to be Martin, somehow entirely unharmed. When it turned around, Jon thought better of that assumption.

 

The tears were pouring from large, dark eyes, too dark, all inky depths of pupils with no whites nor familiar blue iris. There were smaller ones, clustered on his cheeks and brow, blinking in unison to rid themselves of the tears. 

 

If you asked him, in the future, Jon would not be proud to admit that he had screamed. He was also not expecting the thing that was Definitely Not Martin to scream as well. There was a pause, tension frozen in the cold night air before it spoke first. ‘Christ, Jon, what happened to you?’ 

Jon’s response was shaky, still not sure if he should be running, but needing to know anyway. ‘What happened to  _ you _ ?’ 

 

‘I-I don’t know. I was here, trapped, but I got out, tried to look for you, tried to look for  _ anyone _ , found Jonah and-’ Martin gestured helplessly to the decaying thing that was formerly their boss, ‘-I don’t know what’s happening but  _ you need help _ . For. For whatever  _ that  _ is.’ This time he gestured to Jon’s own face. 

 

Jon blinked in shock. Then he blinked again. And again. And again. With dawning horror he slowly raised a hand to his own face, and nearly threw up. 

 

They weren’t the same. Jon’s held no symmetry, placed randomly like pockmarks across his skin, one on his right cheek, two on his left, another two on his forehead. He quickly rolled up his shirt sleeves, finding more staring at up him. He couldn’t see from them, not in the traditional sense, but they clung to him and they helped him  _ know _ . 

 

‘Avatars,’ he choked out, the information tearing itself out of his mouth with the same fierceness it buried its way into his brain. 

 

‘What?’ stuttered Martin. He was grasping at his own face now, smaller eyes closed to his touch but the larger continuing to stare at Jon in growing horror as he realised what had changed.

 

‘We- we were saved- chosen, really, and we,’ he stops, steels himself, and reaches out to clutch Martin’s forearms. ‘We  _ died _ . There, in the basement. Or here, whichever technicality.’

 

Martin flinches from his touch, but doesn’t move away. He’d stopped crying now, and just looked dazed. For eyes that showed nothing, they held more emotion than Jon thought possible. ‘I think- I think I knew that,’ Martin eventually replied, speaking through the lump in his throat. 

 

They stayed like that, Martin eventually taking Jon’s hands in his own somewhat sheepishly. It would have been nice, in a different context. When they hadn’t both just experienced both their untimely demise and resurrection. After a while Martin whispered, ‘So what do we do now?’

 

Jon shook his head. He had so much  _ knowledge _ , but he’d never been so uncertain. The sound of bells and a cart coming towards them jostled them to action, Martin letting go in one hand but keeping his grip on the other tight, and beginning to lead Jon towards the edge of the former-basement-now-pit. They haphazardly scrambled over the edge, using rubble as foot holds, until they could sink into the shadows. Fire and police services were arriving and they did not need those to worry about either. 

 

They stood, backs pressed to a storefront, breathing heavily, until Jon cleared his throat. ‘We- we need to split up. The entities, they don’t like each other, at least not these two. It’s safer this way, until we figure something out. Something to… Just, something.’ 

 

Martin nodded. There was a spider, now, crawling along his cuff. He noticed a second on his shoulder, another perched on his hip. ‘I think I’ll be able to find you, whatever happens.’ With that, Martin finally realised Jon’s hand was still clutched in his and let go.

 

They both reluctantly turned, and headed off into the night.


	2. Uninvited Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can seem so human 'til your demons come a'knockin

No one thought it particularly odd when they found out the Magnus Institute burned down. None thought it any less so when the cause was found out to be arson.

Few would say their presence was a comfort, asking more questions than most wanted to tell, and bringing more fear than that they claimed to study. Jonah Magnus, only body recovered, would not be missed. Not that  any other bodies were ever looked for.

* * *

Two hundred years had passed slowly for Jonathan Sims. Not that he wasn’t grateful for that, that much time meant more that could be learnt, so much to be taught and so much to _know_. 

It didn’t surprise him much, the whole unkillable immortal part. The Beholding needed information, and it couldn’t very well get that if it threw its walking, talking trivia book away.

Maybe not unkillable. He certainly healed fast, rarely bled, and seemed more resistant than he’d been before (which wasn’t very). He didn’t intend to test that theory though, whatever knowledge it would bring. 

Instead he sat back and watched one of the fastest periods of growth humanity had ever known. Shame he was no longer a part of it. 

Georgie sat the cup of coffee in from of him with more force than necessary. ‘Do you _ever_ sleep?’.

‘Yes. Sometimes. Once in a while.’ Which was true, actually. He didn’t really need to any more, but sometimes it was nice. Old habits and all that. He took the coffee. 

‘How’d you even know I’d be awake?’ she asked, sitting down cross legged on the chair across from him.

 _Well, you see, two hundred years ago I was chosen by the elder fear god of knowledge and now-_ ‘Lucky guess. There’s so many people here, one of you was bound to be awake.’. That wasn’t a lie. Jon liked being at Georgie’s because it wasn’t just Georgie’s. How four people managed to co-exist in a tiny london apartment without strangling each other, he didn’t know. But they’d worked out a system, somehow, that perfectly benefited his god’s want to feed on and learn from people, with his own personal philosophy of just not really liking people. He could learn so much about them without ever having to talk to any of them. Well, except Georgie. But she was Georgie.  

He glanced at the paper covering the coffee table between them. Shopping lists, mostly, trying to organise who wanted what. Sasha wanted more hair dye, back to her natural brown after a brief stint of ginger, that no one really seemed to think worked for her. It was a pathetic offering, really, but the Beholding would never refuse to know. 

He felt bad, using Georgie’s company like this. He genuinely liked her, he really did. Though not always of course. He had been rather irritated when someone finally noticed him. 

He’d spent nearly two hundred years hopping from university class to class, always travelling on before someone could notice he’d been there rather longer than expected. The Eye needed knowledge, and this was a good way of getting it that didn’t involve directly going out and provoking people. Not that he didn’t do that on the side, too. He liked the routine of it, but we all have our hobbies. He’d been doing this since he learned how to make the eyes disappear, for at least a while, since he knew how to appear more like the human he now definitely wasn’t.

‘Could do a whole episode on you, if we run out of material. Crazed ghost of a man keeps wandering into my apartment at one AM,’ She rattled the tin on the table, ‘Eat’s all my biscuits.’

When she’d finally noticed, and moreover, called him out on, the fact that he took immaculate notes, never showed up for tests, and seemed to have a grand total of zero friends, he wasn’t about to jump on the ‘new best friend’ train. But nobody can really dislike Georgina Barker, that he learned quickly.

So fast forward to a handful of years later, and he’s collapsed on her sofa in the middle of the night because he was _bored._ Something very human, yet not something he was immune to. He gave her a small smile. ‘Ah, that’ll be the thing that finally gets you to kick me out.’ 

She feigned a heartbreak. ‘Don’t test your luck on me, Sims, I can grow to hate you yet.’

The sound of the front door closing startled them until Melanie appeared from behind a corner, gym bag over one shoulder, as if it was an entirely normal time for exercise. ‘Oh, Jon’s here, again, great. Someone outside, looking for you. Tall, suit, said you’d know who he was, which I sincerely hope you do,’ She rattled this all off, then didn’t even wait for a reply before throwing herself into her own room and slamming the door. Jon had gathered that she didn’t like him, much.

Georgie shot him an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘You gave someone my address?’ She asked, not sounding hurt, but more confused.

Jon’s mouth was dry. ‘Not… Not exactly,’ He said, rising from his seat.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? Honestly, if someone has trackers on you, at this stage I wouldn’t even be surprised,’ She tried to say, but Jon was already out the door and trying not to fall the several flights of stairs in his haste to get down them.

‘Elias,’ he greeted, pulling the buildings main door open.

Elias stood, bathed in the harsh streetlight, glancing at the pocket watch he insisted on wearing on a chain. ‘Ah, Jon, there you are, finally. I’ve got news.’

‘I should bloody well hope so, I don’t mind the invasions of privacy so much but coming to _Georgie’s house_ -’

‘Is that her name? Didn’t bother checking. It’s not relevant, anyway. If any of them get suspicious I can just pull the memory,’ he said flippantly, ‘What is more pressing though, is the ritual.’

Jon’s stomach turned. ‘The ritual. You mean, the Watcher’s Crown it’s- It’s happening?’

‘No, Jonathan, our _other_ ritual. Yes, the Watcher’s Crown. And soon, too. No exact timeline yet though, a slight error is stopping that,’ Elias said, putting the watch back inside his jacket.

‘Error?’

‘The Mother of Puppets. She’s decided she doesn’t like this idea. The Web intends to stop it, wants to use the Fearless One. Obviously we can’t have this.’

Jon paused, trying to process. ‘The Fearless- Yes. Yes I know about that. Is there another one? The End is reluctant to interfere with the world, that they’d claim someone new-’

‘Means it don’t want our ritual to go through either, yes. Which means I’m making it your responsibility to find them,’ said Elias, in a tone of finality Jon was not fond of.

‘Find them? You want me playing detective?’ Jon sputtered, incredulous.

Elias chuckled, in on some joke Jon wasn’t privy to. ‘You’re an avatar of the Beholding, aren’t you? Behold something,’ he called down the street, already somehow halfway gone.

Jon sat down on the doorstep. This was… A lot. The Watcher’s Crown. The thing Jonah Magnus had formed the institute to help create. Two hundred years in the making and it was finally going to be possible. Jon wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to be.

He sighed, pulling out his phone. He had someone he needed to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well todays episode entirely fucked up this fic's plot by saying the Web doesn't have a ritual so. Had to rework some things but it's fine! We're good! All on track again and honestly, I like this MORE than what I had planned? Just gota move a few things around. 
> 
> If you like this AU come yell at me on tumblr, still radiosandrecordings! This one was a lil more plot progressive but back to our regularly scheduled Monster Boys next chapter. Whenever that is. Soon I hope.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this AU and wana talk, come harass me on tumblr I'm elf-grunge but my podcast sideblog is radiosandrecordings!


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